My Beloved Max
By: Karen

Rating: R
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I profit nothing. No harm, no foul.
Summary: This is the sequel to My Beloved Wife. Maria's past comes back to haunt her. This one is told from Maria's POV.

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Prologue

Max is in love with another woman.

She was early, over a month so.  I ignored the pain in my belly for as long as I could, assuming it was just another false alarm or gas pains or…something.  My pregnancy hadn’t been easy.  I threw up all the time.  My bones and muscles ached constantly.  At one point, I started to wonder if my body was “rejecting” its newest inhabitant, if in some way our daughter wasn’t meant to be carried by a human being.

That, of course, led to fears of having a green, three-eyed baby.  Max was so supportive – he’d just laugh at me and kiss my head and tell me I was worrying needlessly.  Then my hair started to fall out and for the first time in my life I had a cavity in one of my molars.  It felt like my body was slowly falling apart.

I read books and found out that the hair loss thing and the cavity thing were normal.  I then hoped that Max was done spreading sperm around because I was going to end up bald and toothless if he kept impregnating me.

Those thoughts led to depression.  I would become so moody that Max would come home from work and poke his head around the door to see what kind of mood I was in.  Sometimes, he’d have a rather nervous expression on his face, there would be some babble about needing to run ‘an errand’ and then he’d disappear again.  It was on those nights that I realized I looked like the Hydra…a thought that would immediately put me into tears as soon as he left.  Not that I blamed him, not with my emotional instability.

Other times, though, he was more tender and caring with me than I ever thought I could deserve.  His body is so warm and his caress so tender that being in his arms would immediately put my doubts to rest.  I might spend all day thinking I was fat or unattractive or just the biggest bitch in the world.  But at night he’d hold me like I was the most delicate, precious thing and all of those self-hates would flutter away.  He has a healing soul, an uncanny ability to patch everything that is wrong.

We bought a small house in the suburbs with a yard for “Junior” to play in once she’s old enough.  I didn’t really mind leaving the city behind – my little one-room apartment was full of bad memories, the only good ones being those of Max finding me there and rescuing me from my rapid downward spiral.  The only bad thing is that Mae-Ling is farther away now.  But she’s a plucky chick and the distance doesn’t seem to bother her.

In my last few months of pregnancy, I took a leave of absence from work.  My feet ballooned and there was just no way I could take the daily trek from the train or bus to the office.  Max offered somewhat tentatively to drive me, but after last Thanksgiving, we decided that Max’s time behind the wheel would be limited.  He’s okay with that – he runs, he walks, he rides his bike when the journey is short.  When it is not, he takes the bus or the train like everyone else.  For a country boy, he’s adapted to city life rather well.

In my few months of ‘vacation’, I kept gaining weight and retaining water until I was so uncomfortable that I just wanted it over.  Little did I know that when the time came for it to be over, I’d kick myself for mentally hurrying things along.  But, I digress. 

One day while I was waddling around our new house, only able to stand for short periods of time, Mae showed up with paint, wallpaper and a ladder.  I laughed when I opened the door, more at her fashionable paint-covered overalls than anything else.  Then she’d promptly let herself in, welcomed herself into the nursery and started to set up shop.  She retrieved a camping chair from the garage and plopped me in it in a corner.  After that, she’d quizzed me on how I wanted to decorate the baby’s room.

We spent a week like that, me squatting in a corner while Mae hand-painted story-book murals on the walls.  She did all of it free-hand, biting the corner of her lip speculatively as she worked.  In the afternoons, we’d plop on the couch to watch soap operas until Max came home.  Often, Mae would lie with her head against my belly, laughing at the tiny kicks and punches coming from within.  I’m sure in her head she was wondering what lost soul was in there, waiting to be reborn, to have another chance at life.

I missed Mae’s company once her vacation was over and she had to return to work.  She left behind a masterpiece in the nursery, something I will have a hard time painting over some day when Junior no longer wants bunnies and fairies on her walls.  I missed having Mae there to make me laugh and make me forget that my back felt like someone was squeezing it with a vice or that my boobs felt like over-inflated footballs.

I missed having Mae there more a few days later when the bleeding started.

I can’t imagine anything more horrifying than finding a puddle of blood between your feet and knowing it came from your own body.  I had been washing dishes, grimacing through the pain and incorrectly assuming it was just my body protesting its expansion again.  I hadn’t even gotten dressed yet that morning because I felt like I needed to just crawl back in bed.  When something splattered on my foot, I looked down to see a crimson pool that scared me more than anything in my life ever had.

Panic flared inside of me and I knew the rapid pumping of my heart would only cause me to bleed faster, but there was nothing I could do to stop my bodily reaction to knowing something very bad was happening.  Unsteady, I made it to the phone and dialed Max’s cell phone.  I managed to wheeze his name before I passed out.

When I awoke again, I was in the hospital and something was definitely different.  And not just different in a morphine-induced kind of way.  Different in that my belly was gone.  Not entirely, as my skin had yet to shrink back to its pre-pregnancy state, but enough that I knew something…was missing.

Max was by my bed, his eyes red, his face wrought with worry.  He didn’t realize I was awake at first and I drunkenly watched him for a few long moments, thinking how utterly beautiful he was.  One hand was half covering his face and he looked like a man who had had his world ripped from beneath him.  I reached out to him, my fingers seeming tingly and very far away.

“Hey, baby,” he said, trying to cover the grim expression he’d held only moments before.

I was too tired to respond so I simply smiled weakly at him.  Then I remembered the absence of the lump in my belly and gave him a questioning look.  “My…”  I tried to speak, but my voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.

Max had my hand in between both of his, his body pitched forward in his chair.  “What are you trying to say, honey?”

“My…”  There was that echo again.  “My baby…”

I think he choked.  A sob, maybe?  But it could have been the drugs.

Alexandra Elizabeth came into the world the same way her father had tried to go out of it – screaming and bloody.  From what I pieced together, Max had received my call and had rushed home to find me lying on the kitchen floor.  There are some really cruel fates in the universe that would turn the tables on us and make Max witness something I had seen the night he tried to take his life – someone he loved lying in a pool of blood.  An ambulance ride to the hospital ensued and then the emergency C-section. 

I didn’t get to witness my daughter’s birth.  I didn’t get to hear her first cry, though Max has described it to me tearfully many times.  Instead, I had emergency surgery and a blood transfusion coming my way.

I was in the hospital for a week.  Allie – as we’ve decided to call her – was there for three weeks while her lungs finished developing.  It was the worst three weeks of my life.  I wanted to breast feed her, so even after I was released I needed to be there.  It hurt to travel so much.  To avoid suspicion from the doctors, Max had been unable to heal my incision quickly – I had regular check ups and the sudden disappearance of the wound would be hard to explain.  So, taking stairs hurt, getting in and out of the car hurt.  Getting to the nursery and sitting down to take her in my arms exhausted me.  But as soon as I held her again, I knew it was all worth it.

Our daughter is perfect.  She has very little hair, and what she does have is blond and wispy – I don’t think she got blessed with her father’s thick hair, but that’s okay.  Her eyes are lighter as well and I think maybe they will end up green or hazel.  She has ten fingers, ten toes and human blood cells.  Some power out there let my human DNA mold with the half of Max’s that’s human and now we have this perfect little being.

Max is in love with another woman.  It’s obvious now as I watch him sleeping with her on the couch.  He’s on his back, one arm thrown over his head and draped across the back of the sofa.  His other arm is curved around her bottom as she lies on her belly against his chest, her legs drawn up beneath her.  She’s three months old now and has solidly taken her own place in her father’s heart.  Her face is turned in my direction, her tiny lips parted slightly as she sleeps.  I can’t help the smile that comes to my face – she snores.  It might be a light snore, but she snores nonetheless.  In that regard, there is no doubt that she’s Max’s daughter.

Unable to resist, I rise from my chair at the kitchen table and kneel on the floor beside them, the man I love and the child I bore.  She gives a little baby-sigh and I smile as I reach to smooth her sparse hair.  I know what it’s like to be curled up against that chest, sweetie – I don’t blame you for sighing.

Seeming to sense my presence, there is a hitch in Max’s breathing and his eyes crack open.  I give him an apologetic smile, but he just blinks lazily and opens his arm to me.  Shifting Allie to the other side of his chest, he makes room for me beside him and I slide into his embrace.  I put my cheek against his chest and my arm around our daughter.  I like that there’s room enough for both of us, that we can share the comfort of his touch.

In only moments, he’s asleep again, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.  Allie makes some more baby noises as she slumbers and I feel myself starting to be sedated by my husband and daughter.  I want to stay here forever, on this couch, because everything just seems perfect.

Perhaps too perfect.

Part One

I’m five years old.

It’s a rainy day, but I don’t mind because my Daddy is home and that doesn’t happen too often.  He’s sitting in the recliner, reading the newspaper.  Mom is in the kitchen, probably making lunch or maybe some cookies or something.

I’m sitting in the corner, on the floor, coloring a present I’m making for Daddy.  I try really hard to stay in the lines I drew because I want it to be perfect for him.  I’ve spent a lot of time cutting and pasting and coloring and I just know he’s going to be thrilled with the card I’m making!

I sit back and look at it and I think it looks great.  Too excited for words, I jump up and thrust the gift in front of Daddy’s eyes.

“Look what I made you, Daddy!” I chirp.

“Don’t shove things in my face!” he barks, his voice booming off the walls.  “I was reading the paper and that was very rude of you, Maria!”

I withdraw the card and hang my head.  I’ve upset him, I can see that.  All I wanted to do was make him smile, make him love me.

“Carl,” Mom calls from the kitchen, her voice like it is when I’m in trouble.  I risk a glance at her and she’s standing with one fist on her hip.  “She made you a present, Carl.”

With that, Daddy suddenly looks guilty.  He folds his paper and holds his hand out.  “I’m sorry, baby.  What was it you wanted to show me?”

All excitement forgotten, I hold out the card.  He takes it from me and makes several comments about what a great job I did and how pretty it is.  But I’m not buying it.  I know deep down how he really feels, how he will always feel.

Reading a newspaper is more important to him than anything I will ever do.

I blink a couple of times and squint at the clock – it’s seven in the morning.  It’s October, so the sun has yet to truly penetrate the curtains.  Instead, there is a kind of twilight glow about everything.  But that’s not what has awakened me.

My slumber has been interrupted by the feel of Max’s lips against my neck.  In my gut, I feel dread and immediate guilt.  The sheets rustle as he shifts position, circling his arm around me to cup my breast.  There’s a slight discomfort there – it’s been too long since I’ve fed Allie and my skin is starting to feel the strain.  Max folds his leg over mine as his kisses become a little more insistent.

“Max,” I say, my voice a tired croak.

He stops momentarily, then pushes his nose through my hair.  “Hmm?” he mumbles against my ear.

I can’t say the word.  I can’t say “No” to my husband, so I simply shake my head.

He stops entirely, but he doesn’t sigh or act rejected in any way.  His grasp on my breast releases a bit and some of the pressure there goes away.  “Okay,” he breathes, then wraps his arms around me from behind.  He’s still half asleep, I think, as his breathing levels out almost immediately.

But I’m still not comfortable.  I know that I have once again dodged the intimacy bullet, but he’s still holding me and I just don’t want him to.  Maybe it’s because I feel ugly and bloated right now.  I don’t really have a reason for it.  All I know is I want to get away.  Max must be so confused – yesterday I was climbing onto the couch with him and today I’m batting him away.  But I can’t explain to him what I can’t explain to myself.

Like my little savior, I hear Allie start to stir down the hallway.  She grunts a bit, then her pleas become all-out wails.  I try to hide my grin that I get away so easily.  Max, on the other hand, groans.

“It’s okay,” I say.  “I’ve got her.”  I glance at the clock again.  “Besides, you need to get ready for work.”

He mumbles something incoherently as I climb out of the bed.  I pad down the hallway and as soon as I appear at Allie’s door, she breaks into a wide grin and giggles.

“There’s my little pumpkin,” I say, going to retrieve her from her crib.  I know she’s hungry, but first things first – I know she’s got to be soaked by now.

So I change her and baby-talk to her.  Down the hallway, I hear the shower start to run and I know Max has finally made it out of bed.  I hoist Allie into my arms and sit in the rocker to nurse her.  As I watch her feed, I get that uneasy feeling in my stomach again, that queasy feeling that I wasn’t meant for this job.

When I first found out I was pregnant, I wanted to run.  I wanted to run as far as I could as fast as I could.  But I would still be pregnant and running would solve nothing.  I thought about abortion, a consideration that guilts me to the core now that I’m holding in my arms what I would have given up.  But even back at that moment, lying in that hospital bed recovering from hypothermia, I had known that I could never live with my conscience if I went through with the abortion.

I had no one to turn to.  All of Max’s family was in town, hovering over him like the nauseatingly functional group they are.  My mother didn’t even bother to come to Chicago to help me back to recovery, not that I needed a lot of help.  Still, it would have been nice to have her here while I waited the outcome of Max’s injuries.  But that’s my mom – flaky and never Mother of the Year material.  If she had come, maybe I could have told her my pregnancy dilemma and we could have talked over my options…

Yeah, right.

There would have been no talking.  There would have been lecturing about birth control and sleeping with “that Evans boy.”  Most of Roswell is aware of Max’s depression and suicide attempt, so my mother was well aware of his potentially unstable frame of mind.  No, telling her I’d been impregnated by a suicidal half-alien wouldn’t have made for good conversation.

The sadness had set in as I realized that Liz Parker was probably the only person I could have had that conversation with.  Or perhaps Alex Whitman, once he got past the gory details.  But both of them are gone now, on to another plane of existence.  I was left with the invading Evanses and Michael Guerin – none of whom I could confide in while Max lay in a coma.

That left Mae.  Good, trustworthy, always spacey Mae.  Of course, she’d launched into the whole reincarnation bit, that the baby I was growing was actually an “old soul” waiting to be reborn and given another chance at life.  After that, how could I not go through with it?  How could I deny an old soul’s second chance at life?  There’d definitely be some guilt associated with aborting that one.

But it had been Max who had made me decide to have Allie.  I expected him to run.  Hell, I wanted him to run.  But he didn’t – he was actually excited to be a parent and upset that I didn’t share his same feelings.  Then again, Max came from the functional side of town, not the dysfunctional one.

Max will never understand abandonment.  Sure, he was born all alone in the desert and left to fend for himself, but that’s different.  He never knew what it was like to have a parent and then in the next minute know that you weren’t worthy of them sticking around to see you grow up.  The way I look at it, Max has been pretty blessed, pretty loved in his life. 

Not even a day after climbing out of his pod, the Evanses found him and dragged him home, regardless of the fact that he was buck naked and couldn’t speak.  Most people would have thought “What a freaky kid” and dumped him and his sister back onto the highway.  Nope, not the Evanses.  They saddled those critters into their truck and made a home for them.

Then, even though it was after years of pitiful moping, he managed to snag Liz.  They had their ups and downs, but no one in my life has ever loved me the way Liz loved Max.  She gave him everything, she was his soul mate.

And after she was gone, I came into the picture.  So, as far as I can tell, Max doesn’t know what it’s like to love someone unconditionally and have them leave you in the lurch.  Loving parents, a soul mate, faithful wife number two.

I say none of this to criticize him.  I know he’s had struggles in his life.  I know his heart has been broken.  I say this merely to make the point that he doesn’t understand what it’s like to have a bad parent, to be left behind.

He doesn’t understand why I’m nervous about being a mother.

Isabel will be a wonderful mother because she had a wonderful mother.  Who did I have?  I had someone who wouldn’t even travel a few thousand miles to be with their daughter after a near-fatal car crash.

My mom is fucked in the head.  I’m fucked in the head.  I can’t help but worry that I will pass it on and Allie will be fucked in the head as well.

Max emerges from the bathroom in a fog of steam, naked.  I can’t stop myself from smiling – when he first came to Chicago a year ago, he acted very prim and bashful of that body and my comfort with my nudity seemed to appall him.  Now look at him – prancing around like there’s no tomorrow.  He disappears into the bedroom and I hear the sliding of dresser drawers and closet doors.

I start the motion of the rocker and reach down to brush Allie’s hair to the side.  I feel sad – Max has taken a job in a legal firm, a position one of his dad’s acquaintances secured for him.  I know he hates the law profession, even if he is just the office gopher.  I can’t help but think about that pad of paper shoved to the back of his desk drawer, the one on which he wrote all of the places he wanted to visit.  Instead of doing those things, he’s working as a grunt so he can support us.  Not that he’s complained, but I have to wonder how long it will be before those far-away places seem more appealing than a wife and daughter.

“How’s my sweetie?” he asks as he stops in the nursery door.  He smells clean and fresh and sexy, and he looks like a catalog model as he stands there fixing his tie.  He’s unbelievably handsome in a suit.

“Just fine, Daddy,” I say, smiling at him.

Once the tie is fixed, he enters the room and bends down to lay a kiss atop Allie’s head.  His wet hair tickles my bare chest and for a moment I have a pang of grief that there seems to be such a distance between us of late.  He squats before the chair and gazes for what seems like an eternity at his tiny off spring.

There’s the old cliché out there that men are afraid to deal with babies because they are small and fragile and men are big and break everything.  Max has never had that opinion, apparently, because he is better with Allie than I am.  When we first brought her home from the hospital, after she was strong enough to be released, it was Max who bathed her and changed her and did everything I was afraid to do.  Of course, he may have had the knowledge that if he broke her he could fix her to quell his fears.  Whatever the reason, he’s a natural at childcare.  Maybe I should go back to work and he should quit his job…

“She’s a beautiful baby,” he says in awe for about the millionth time.  He’s smiling at me with those incredible eyes and I’m unable to do anything but smile back.

“She is,” I agree.

“And you’re a beautiful mommy.”

I don’t know about that.  I look down at the floor, at Allie, everywhere but at Max.  Because of my avoidance, he picks up my hand and forces me to look at him.

“You are,” he says, his voice soft.  “You know I think that, right?”

I nod silently, playing his reassurance game.

He lets out a soft sigh and bites his lip.  “I don’t know what I can do to help, Maria.  Just tell me what I can do and I’ll do it.”

I give a small, clueless laugh even though I’m far from it.  “About what?”

He cocks his head slightly.  “You’re not yourself.”  His voice is gentle, holding no reprimand.  “You seem sad.  I don’t want you to be sad.”  He picks up my hand and kisses the back of it.  “Please let me help?”

“There’s nothing to help with,” I assure him, pasting on a smile.  “I’m fine.  I just get a little tired from being with Allie all day.”

He doesn’t look convinced.  I know he’s thinking about his attempts at romance and my refusal.

I broaden my smile, instilling it with confidence I don’t feel.  “I’ll be fine,” I repeat.  “You’re going to be late for work.”

He relents and drops my hand as he stands.  Before he leaves, however, he dips his head and kisses me on the lips.  He tastes like a combination of toothpaste and his own taste and I feel a little jump in my stomach.  Well, obviously my libido isn’t entirely dead.

“Maybe we’ll get a sitter,” he offers.  “And you and I can go out one night, just the two of us.”

I nod.  “I’d like that.”

He lingers for a moment, then disappears out the front door to catch the bus. 

I look down at Allie, who has drifted back to sleep.  I want her to be a healthy, happy Evans baby, not a fucked-in-the-head Deluca.  I’m not sure if that’s possible.  Maybe it’s a given that fucked-in-the-head people will have fucked-in-the-head babies.

Maybe all of my fears about being a bad mother are true.

Part Two

I’m five years old.

Daddy likes to put together model cars and planes and stuff.  When he’s home, he spends hours at the kitchen table carefully gluing wings on planes and bumpers on cars.  I don’t like the way the glue smells, but I can’t keep myself away – I love to watch what he’s doing.

Not only does the glue smell, but so do the cigarettes Daddy likes.  The smoke swirls above his head and dances around the ceiling fan.  Before reaching for a tiny door for his latest race car, he takes the cigarette from his lips, turns it backward and places it at the edge of the table so that the hot end is dangling over the side.  Ooo, mom is going to be mad if he drops ashes on the floor…

I forget about the boring, stinky cigarette as I watch Daddy pick up the door and reach for the glue.  I lean a little closer, watching him squirt a tiny amount of the smelly stuff onto the door, then he reaches for the car body, which looks pretty ugly at this point.  But I can’t wait to see it in a few hours, when he’s all done with it.  I’m curious as to how the door is going to fit on the car so I lean even closer.

There’s a sudden pain in my arm and I jump back, screaming and grabbing for it.  Daddy drops the car and the door as the cigarette tumbles to the floor.  I’ve burned myself on his cigarette.

“Goddamn it, Maria!” he yells and I feel tears coming to my eyes.  “Watch what you’re doing!  Look what you made me do!”

I slink away from him, my arm hurting, afraid to show mom my booboo because then I’ll have to tell her what I’ve done.  I should have been more careful.  It’s my fault Daddy’s upset.

Allie’s fingernails need to be clipped.

I look at the scratch on her cheek and know that it is self-inflicted.  Dread swells in my stomach.  I hate cutting her freaking nails because her fingers are so tiny and I’m afraid of hurting her.  But if I don’t do it she’s going to keep scratching herself.  I bite my lip and look down the hallway at Max, who is stuffing his feet into his shoes as he buttons his cuffs.  Maybe I could get him to do it…

“You about ready?” he calls as he bustles about, shoving his wallet in his back pocket, grabbing his house keys.

“Just about,” I reply, glad for the reprieve from the nail-clipper dilemma. 

I reach down and hoist Allie out of her bouncy seat.  Today she and I are riding the bus downtown with Max.  I want to do some shopping and then stop in and visit with Mae and the coworkers.  I need to get out – being penned in this bungalow is suffocating me.  Taking a stroller or seat isn’t practical, so I plop Allie into one of those baby packs that you wear on the front of your body.  She doesn’t mind hanging there like a rag doll and it’s easier to maneuver with my hands free.  Besides, it’s easier on the back.

Max comes down the hallway looking a little harassed so I pick up the pace and grab Allie’s diaper bag.  When he makes eye contact, though, the frazzled look disappears and he grins.  Jesus.  Why is he so patient?

“Ready?” he asks again, taking my arm.

I nod and follow him out the door.  As we walk to the bus stop, he goes through the usual line of questioning – something that never existed pre-baby.

“You have my cell number, right?  I’ll keep it in my pocket so you can get a hold of me any time.  Will you call me when you get back home?  Good.  Do you have enough money?  Here, let me give you more.”

I walk mutely beside him, nodding my head in answer to his questions, waiting while he walks and digs in his wallet at the same time. 

“Here’s fifty more.  Do you want the credit card?  No?  Are you sure?  I mean, I don’t mind if you want to do some shopping, buy some new clothes or something.  We can afford it.”  There’s the grin again.  But it disappears quickly.  “Oh, shit – there’s the bus.”  He reaches down and grabs my hand as he breaks into a run. 

Having no control of her destiny, Allie bounces against my chest, which makes her giggle.  She thinks running for the bus is a game.  Apparently so does Max because he laughs with her.

We make it to the bus in time and breathlessly take our seats.  I adjust the pack so that Allie is sitting more comfortably on my lap.  Max grins at her and leans over to give her a kiss on the head.  On his way back up, he very sneakily nudges my breast with his nose.  I look at him drolly and he laughs, tossing a wink my way.  The man is breast-obsessed.

And delighted that I’ve joined him this morning.  He puts his arm over the back of the seat as we begin our bumpy ride downtown.  Several people acknowledge him by name – must be the usual morning crowd – and he proudly introduces us.  The strangers are polite without being friendly, typical bus behavior I suppose.

Max chats a lot, which is abnormal for him.  He talks about things he needs to do at the office today, a case he’s helping out with, his conversation with Isabel last night.  He’s never been one to small-talk, but he’s rattling constantly today.  I smile at him, his gregariousness a result of his being happy we’re here.

“What?” he asks, laughing lightly.

“Motor mouth,” I say.

He laughs a little harder.  “Yeah.  Strong coffee this morning, I guess.”  He pauses and puts his hand to his chest, concentrates.  “Yeah, too much caffeine.  My heart’s thumping ninety miles an hour.  Here, feel.”  He takes my hand in his and holds it to his chest.  Sure enough, it’s out of control.

Feeling Max’s body does strange things to me.  At the most inopportune of times, I flash back on a rather hot, steamy Chicago summer night when he and I went at it like wild animals.  I remember thinking one of us was going to have a heart attack that night – I hoped it wasn’t me because I was pregnant and I hoped it wasn’t him because I lack the power to heal him.  Why did things seem so normal then and so wrong now?

Max must have caught the look in my eyes because his grin has faded away.  He’s still holding my hand against his chest; he slowly releases his grip and I pull away, sliding my arm around the bundle of my daughter.

“Well,” I say weakly, “tomorrow don’t make the pot so strong, okay?”

He nods silently and turns to look out of his window.

We ride the rest of the way in silence.  I walk Max to his office building and we say goodbye on the sidewalk.  He touches Allie’s head and makes her giggle, then gives me a lingering look.  I see so much confusion in his eyes and I have no idea what to do about it.  Then he reaches out and pulls me to him, as much as he can with the baby pack in the way.  He holds me longer than I expect him to, giving me one last tight squeeze around the shoulders before parting.

“Call me when you get home,” he reminds as he disappears into the building.

I’m alone on the street with a three-month-old hanging around my neck, strangers in suits bustling past me.  Now that Max is gone, I feel inexplicably vulnerable, like a cold breeze just brushed over my soul.  I shiver and make myself start to walk.  I am such a flake these days.

I shop for a few hours, not really buying much – I need to be able to juggle baby, diaper bag and shopping bags on the way home.  I guess I could just get a cab for the return journey, but I hate those things.

Around eleven o’clock , I realize that I was wrong about not getting a back ache while using the pack – I have a shooting pain from the base of my spine to my shoulder blades.  So I waddle and wince all of the way to my place of employment – these days my place of Family Medical Leave Act.  Once in the elevator, I breathe a little sigh of relief as I lean against the back wall, looking for any release of pressure from my spine.  Fourteen floors up and I have to waddle again.

The receptionist is overly friendly, too friendly in fact.  Someone should tell her that her act comes across as being phony.  But I pause and let her make goo-goo noises at Allie before I retreat towards my old office.

I can hear Mae-Ling when I’m still fifty feet away from her office door. She’s howling with laughter at something and I have to smile at that.  She has one of the best laughs I’ve ever heard in my life.  When I get to her door, I see that she’s lounged back in her chair, chatting on the phone.  Upon seeing me, she snaps upright.

“Okay, I’ve gotta go,” she says abruptly into the phone.  “Of course I’ll call you.”  She doesn’t say goodbye – she tosses the phone back to the receiver and jumps from her seat.  Circling her desk, she gives me a big hug and stoops to make faces at the baby.  I’d forgotten how tall Mae is…

“Oh, look at my little cutie!” she gushes, holding out her hands.  “You want to come to Auntie Mae, don’t you?”

Allie kicks and laughs.  Mae reaches into the pack and frees her from her nylon prison and I give a groan of relief.

“Thank you,” I breathe.  I put my hands on my lower back and stretch.  “I think she’s gained some weight.”

Mae laughs and bounces her as I pull the pack over my head.  Mae’s eyes land on my chest and her eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“My God, Maria – your boobs are huge!”

I glance down at them.  To me, they look no bigger than usual, but I suppose to someone who doesn’t see them every day they must look humungous.

“The perks of breast-feeding,” I sigh.

Mae’s still staring.  “What do they feel like?”

It’s my turn to raise the eyebrows.  “Feel like?  They feel swollen.”

She gives a quick shake of her head.  “No, I mean to someone else?  What do they feel like?  Are they firm?  Squishy?”

Oh, how I’ve missed Mae.  I shake my head slowly.  I may as well get it over with.  I point to my boobs with my index fingers.  “Do you want to -?”

She nods eagerly, then reaches out and cups one of my breasts.  I cock my head and look at the wall, waiting patiently while she squeezes, bounces and makes little “huh” noises.  Of all of the girlfriends I’ve had over the years, I can’t name any one of them besides Mae who would be bold enough to ask to feel my breasts on company property.  Hell, I can’t think of any of them who would want to.

“Interesting,” she says, retracting her hand.  Her body is swaying slightly as she placates my daughter.  “Are your nipples bigger, too?”

I sigh.  “Yeah.  Hey listen, I didn’t come here to talk about my boobs.”  I circle her desk and plop down in her chair.

“Of course not!” she chirps, shifting gears as quickly as she always does.  “Let’s go out to lunch.  My treat!”

I glance at Allie.  “I don’t know about that,” I say tentatively.  “Junior there doesn’t do so well with restaurants yet.”

Mae shrugs.  “So, we’ll go eat in the cafeteria.  I’m sure those heathens down there won’t mind a little baby screaming.”

Mae’s lunch consists of a Pepsi and a peach Hostess snack pie, which she tosses into the microwave for a few moments.  I get a Caesar salad, so she finishes way before I do.  So I can eat, she holds Allie and bounces her on her knee.

“So, have you thought about coming back?” she asks.

I shrug.  I have thought about it, but I can’t fathom dealing with the stress of being a mother and working at the same time.  I don’t know how millions of mothers out there do it every day.  “I haven’t given it much thought,” I fib.

“What does Max say?” Mae asks.

“Nothing.”  And he doesn’t.  He hasn’t once asked me to get off my ass and help contribute to the bills.  He just gets up, gets ready and does his whole provider act.

Mae grins.  “That’s my Max.”

I look at her in surprise.  “What do you mean?”

She laughs lightly.  “He’s such a noble guy, ya know?  He acts like he’s all sensitive and a real man of the new century, but underneath he likes the macho role of breadwinner.”

I laugh at her analogy.  She could be very right about that one.  Shit, Mae’s always right about what she sees in someone else’s character.

“So,” she says as she leans back in her chair and holds Allie up so she can look over her shoulder.  “Halloween’s coming up.”

I nod silently as I chew a bit of lettuce.  I had been thinking that I need to get Allie a costume.

“I was thinking about having a party,” Mae baits. 

“Okay,” I say, sipping my water.

Her grin is mischievous, like she knows something I don’t.  “Would you come?”

Depends on my mood that day, sister.  “Probably.”

“Would it make you smile again?”

I stop picking at the salad and look at her in stunned silence.

She meets my gaze for a long moment, then her eyes soften.  “You’re bummed these days,” she says without accusation.  “I get it.  I want you to come.  I want you to have a good time.”

I avoid her gaze.  She sees everything, my friend Mae.  “Okay.”

“Good!” she chimes.  “There’s one last thing I need to tell you – but remember you’ve already agreed to come.”

Oh, Christ.  This can’t be good.  “What?” I ask, afraid of the next words that are going to come out of her mouth.

“I invited Michael.”

Part Three

I’m five years old.

It’s dark in my room and I can’t see anything.  I clutch Wizzie my stuffed pig close to my chest and wait to hear the noise again.  I don’t hear it because all I can hear is the rush of blood in my ears, but I know that something is out there.

Hoping nothing grabs me from beneath the bed, I slip onto the floor, dragging Wizzie with me.  I wish I had a brother or sister to share my room with.  Maybe then the dark wouldn’t scare me so much.

I pad out to the hallway and glance toward the living room, but it’s dark down there, too.  I know Daddy and Mom will protect me, so I turn the corner and sneak towards their bedroom, walking on my tiptoes so that the floor doesn’t creak.  Their bedroom door is ajar and I peek inside.  It’s dark in there, too, but I can see the little red tip of Daddy’s cigarette and hear soft voices.  I can’t hear what they’re saying but I feel better knowing that they’re awake.  Surely if there was any monster that was about to get me, they’d get up to protect me, right?

“Maria!” my dad suddenly bellows and I jump straight into the air.  “Don’t you ever come into this room without one of us telling you that you can!”

He scares me more than any monster could, so I run back to my bed as fast my feet will allow.

Allie won’t hold still.

She’s squirming and wiggling and fighting me every inch of the way.  Max will be home soon and I should have waited for him to do her nails.  I have one hand done and I’m working on the second, but my daughter has lost her patience.

And so have I.  I thought that my visit to Mae would be uplifting, but it wasn’t.  It annoys me that she hasn’t changed, that she’s still the same party girl I’ve always known.  It annoys me that Max pretends like everything is okay and it is not.  It annoys me that it annoys me Michael is coming to visit.

Why should that annoy me?  True, we’re not enemies.  But we’re not exactly friends, either.  We’re civil.  That’s about the end of it.  He is still Max’s best friend, but even that status wasn’t enough to win him a role in our wedding – Michael and I are not close enough to be that happy for one another.  I can’t believe he’s coming here.  I can’t believe I’m going to have to endure his attitude.

Because attitudes are contagious and Michael’s just must be fatal.

I have one finger left to go – her pinky.  God, I hate clipping pinkies.  They’re so small and she keeps wiggling and I hate to squeeze her hand so hard to make her hold still.  I don’t want to hurt her.  But I realize that hope is for not as Allie suddenly shrieks, a primal, wounded scream.  Then her face contorts into one of those silent, breathless moments that I absolutely terrify me – her eyes are squeezed shut and her mouth is stretched wide as her skin turns bright red.  Jesus, baby, breathe!

She does and the house fills with her wails.  I look down at her hand and see red blood bubbling from the tip of her finger.  Mouth dropping open in disbelief, I turn over the baby clippers and see a bit of skin hanging from the blades.  Oh my God!  I pinched off the tip of her finger!

Fighting back nausea, I grab a Kleenex from the end table and hold it to her wound.